Fucking a coursemate was never something I would really say, but I found myself doing it. I actually had this nostalgic feeling, just like some of my coursemates, of being laid down by a coursemate or dating a coursemate. I wondered how we would look at each other in class, how we would do things, how I would stand seeing my significant other being hugged by my fellow coursemates, and maybe things of that nature. I was always jealous, and I guess I still am the jealous type. When I am in love with you, honestly, it will kill me if I see you with a woman, even if it means a friend, being overly touchy towards you and seeing that you do not have any objection to the same.
After the conversation with Ana in the car, we entered my house, and I prepared some lunch for us to take, as she had an additional show at three at WBHM station. She had gotten the offer while I was at home, and so I was just happy for her; it really didn't matter. Though at first I somehow felt she was better than me, maybe that's why she got twice as many chances, but I realized that it was very bad of me to ever think of something so stupid as that.
"So what's your deal with Leney?" Ana asked as she retouched her makeup, ready to set out for the show.
"Nothing, he just called." I stated, being as random as possible, but of course, he had just called, and it was nothing but a call.
"How do I look?" She asked, facing me. She always asked me that question when going out, and of course she always looked good, except when she wore her favorite long black and white dotted trouser. I hated its shape and everything about it, and she knew that, but she ought to just assume everything I said about it, for it was her favorite. She was a hot-headed girl right there; it would take one forever to ever tell her never to wear that certain trouser. She was taller and slender than I, and not quite curvy, no, but she well had her own feminine treasures, like the legs and the beautiful face, which were adjacently favored by the beautiful glasses she wore. I really don't think I had ever described her, dear reader; maybe today was the first time I really got to check her out intimately. She was not as tall though, but she was taller than me—something like 5'6 or seven of sorts—she was taller than I.
"You look good and charming; every guy will just be mesmerized by you, a hot cake, and with the addition of some makeup, you look extra ordinary," I stated, which made her laugh me out. She always hated me when I would pamper her with all sorts of weird, nice words to call someone who looked good. She was always nervous, I guess, when someone would tell her how gorgeous she was. I guess she preferred just someone keeping their compliments to themselves; they were never her thing. A simple you look good would hype her energy, and oppositely, a simple you look bad would decrease her energy, except for the fucking black and white dotted trouser. What did she love about that anyway?
"Okay, I gotta go, sweetie. Good luck with Leniey. Tell me about it." She stated that as she carried her white, golden-striped handbag, it was quite elegant for her; it suited her. I wonder how I would look with some official wear; I always wore casually, even when heading to the stations.
"Okay, bye, good luck; kill the audience." I stated laughing. I don't know why I even used the word kill instead of something like break a leg, I guess. I was trying to fit in the slang of some American or United Kingdom-based English. I guess saying good luck only would do, but she usually never minded my language; she would just simply squint her eyes, shake her head, or just be like, Okay, damn, cool, and things.
As the door closed, I realized I had only a few hours before Leniey arrived. I started racing to my bedroom to check myself out. Was I good-looking with this simple look? I was wearing a simple Dior blouse and some black jeans body-shaper trousers. I had something with body shapers, but they quite embraced my figures. Everyone complimented me when I wore them, so I knew the real deal was that people liked them on me. I was never a fan of skirts and dresses, maybe back at home when I would wear the African known dera because my mom was hell of a woman when you wore trousers. She would be like, You act like a man, or stop wearing like a masculine figure, or it exposes much of yourself, but anyway, after my sister started wearing like me, she had to agree with us and accept the change of generations.
I haven't spoken to my family since my arrival. We, however, chat a lot with my sister via WhatsApp, and sometimes I comment on her TikTok crazy videos. I just hope one day I won't find her shaking her ass, or we will have a problem. I sometimes miss her, but well, this is a journey for each individual, and sometimes you have to leave family behind to chase your dreams and maybe form another family. As I am thinking everything out, I hear a knock, or I assume to hear a knock at my door. I was not expecting anyone, so at first I assume, and then the individual knocks again, and so I am obligated to head and open the door. I do not check who it is, for maybe it is a neighbor seeking help for something or borrowing something.
"Hey, wassup Angel here." I state this as I open the door, and I am met with the eyes of Leniey. It was barely even four. Ana had just left; I am sure it was around 2:30 or something, for when she was at my house, she would leave thirty or twenty minutes before the scheduled time when the show was set to start.
"Hey." Lenieys states, hands halfway in his pockets. He sometimes looked cool when he did that. I wanted to say something but just rubbed it off by showing him my hand and asking him to come in, which he adhered to, and I closed my door.
"I know I am quite early." He started, as if reading my thoughts, on what was running through my mind. Of course it was that; I was here wondering what to wear, and he just arrived. "I was bored; I couldn't wait till four. Sorry." He added. I took one of the glasses from the kitchen and offered him juice, as the food we had prepared with Ana had finished and there was nothing to offer him. I cannot waste my time cooking for him; sometimes I think of the art of 'cooking'. It sure is a calling, but not many people love doing it. And the worst part is that it has to be known; it is a skill that does not just come by; it is a skill that you have to practice over and over and over again until you arrive at perfection.
"How's home?" I asked as I sat down next to where he was and faced him as he drank his juice quietly.
"Good." He stated, and that's when I remembered that this was the first time in many years that we, both of us, were this close, with nothing on the way, just this close, and I knew I was staring, so I averted my eyes and took my phone, which was on the table next to the coach in which we were seated. I had one coach and a table; maybe I will add more utensils when I take my leave.
"Your mom is a vibe," I mentioned, trying to maintain the conversation. However, it seemed like he hadn't quite registered my earlier comment. So, I raised my voice a bit and said, "Your mom is a vibe; she called me that day and offered me some genuinely valuable advice."
"Mum?" he responded, a hint of confusion in his voice.
"Yes, your mother, when she handed me your papers... how is she anyway?" I inquired.
"I had to leave because..., eehh,.. She's no longer with us, Angel," he replied somberly. In one swift motion, he downed his juice, as if this admission were the most painful thing he'd ever shared, and it truly was. Losing a parent is one of the most heart-wrenching experiences one can endure. For me, losing my father wouldn't affect me all that much, as he was distant and things were complicated. But losing my mother would be devastating, leaving me emotionally shattered. I know that one day she will depart, creating a void that I'm uncertain can ever be filled. I felt the need to offer some words of comfort, but what can you really say in such a moment? I began to recall all the psychology lessons we had taken on understanding human emotions, but I was at a loss for words to console him.
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"Hey,… hey,.." That was all I could say. I wanted to say, Maybe take it easy, or maybe it's going to be alright. Maybe if it was a relationship problem, I would say you will find someone better, but if it is a mother, if it is someone who raised you, none would ever replace that person. Even if you have the craziest of riches, a mother's love always breaks even the toughest of humans. We needed a drink, and I had already finished all my drinks that I had placed in my refrigerator. Now what?
"It's okay; I'm just figuring things out." Leniey stated, and I just took my hand and held his, something that always worked when Kelvin had some stress, but for Leniey, I don't really remember him coming to me this stressed out. He laid his head on the coach and closed his eyes. He was literally fighting the tears; I could feel it; he was literally trying hard; his breathing was visible; the way his chest rose in unison He wore a plain beige baggy shirt and some baggy brown lady-made, well-straightened trousers. His pain was barely not to be seen; he was allowing himself to be vulnerable with me, something that would easily make me fall for a man.